


Hawkeye Has A Thing For Redheads (And Bureacrats)

by orphan_account



Series: After the Storm, (of the Manhatten Incident) Comes Peace [3]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, BDSM, Bondage, But all of the Avengers do, Clint Has Issues, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint just needs a hug, Clint's really a twelve year old, Deaf Clint, Dog!, Dom/sub, F/M, Feels, I just-can't, Natasha Feels, Natasha actually has feelings, Not A Fix-It, Original Character(s), Subspace, blindfold, bottom!clint, not yet at least, top!Natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has always loved Natasha. Clint has always had good aim. </p><p>He thinks he's got a opening now. Will Natasha agree? </p><p>(working title: Clint HATES Medical Leave; or; The One Time Clint Flipped Fury Off)</p><p>Expilct rating for a sex scence in the Chapter 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint saw Charlotte fall. He also saw Natasha fall. He lurched forward, wanting to go to her. She stumbled, and got back up. He pressed his com and barked in Russian, ‘watch out Widow’. She glanced over at him and nodded curtly before refocusing on the mission. Clint slipped back into ‘Hawkeye’ and gave Captain America cover as he attended to their wounded handler. He watched as the fighting stopped when Stark took out the leader of the resistance. SHIELD came in at that point, and Clint watched the medics trying to get through the busted asphalt. He told Cap that they weren’t going to be able to get through and watched him pick their handler, his wife, up and carry her to the ambulance. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Natasha fall down to a sitting position. He did a quick, yet through scan of the horizon, checking for threats, before leaping off his perch and catching himself on a flag pole sticking out of a building. He continued his descent, and landed four feet away from the Black Widow. She hissed at him and huddled around her middle. He held his hands out in surrender and slung his bow and quiver off his shoulder. He knelt down by her knees and waited for Natasha to calm down enough to let go of her side for Clint to see. It didn’t look completely awful. It looked like a deep muscle bruise, something that would need a few days to heal before their workouts started again. He looked up at her, her eyes hard and shielded from him. 

“Back to the Tower?” He asked quietly. She nodded. Clint stood up and helped Natasha up, trying hard to ignore her pained gasp as she straightened. A SHIELD van pulled up nearby, and Clint got them to stop. The man took them back to Avenger Tower and Clint pulled a reluctant Natasha out of the van.  
She went up to her private rooms, and closed the door behind her, clearly not wanting Clint to come in. He sighed and trucked across the hall to his suite of rooms at Stark-Avenger Tower. He showered, taking his time and relaxing slightly, still concerned for Natasha. He knew it was stupid. He shouldn’t be worried. She was the infamous Black Window. Top spy, seductress and assassin.  
Clint braced himself against his shower wall. He shouldn’t care for her. He’d taken his hearing aids out and left them on the bathroom counter. He didn’t hear Natasha come into his bathroom, until she touched his arm. He jerked, startled. She was outside his shower stall.

“Mind if I join?” He read her lips.

“Uhm. Why?” He said quietly. She started to say something, and he couldn’t follow it. “I- I can’t um,- I can’t hear you.” She nodded.

‘I will wait for you outside.’ She signed in ASL quickly, before leaving his bathroom. He stood there, stunned for a minute. Then shut the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He shuffled into his room, he not without his own injuries from this mission. He knew something was hurt in his leg, it burned and itched. Natasha was sitting on his made bed, crossed legged and in yoga pants and a sports bra. Her sides were awful, and it looked like it pained her to sit upright. He quickly tugged a pair of sweatpants on and grabbed her arms, helping her to lie down. Her hand slid into his and signed, ‘Thank you’. 

“No problem. You need to be in the bed for the next few days.” 

‘So do you. It’s your bum leg, isn’t it?’ Clint nodded. ‘Come lay down then, rest your leg. We’re both tired.’ Clint nodded and climbed up into his bed, laying next to a woman known for killing men after she’s slept with them. 

“Why are you here?”

‘I tried sleeping. I was already having nightmares. And I hit my head pretty hard. I’d rather not be alone.’ Clint nodded. He settled down next to Natasha, and turned over, his back facing her. 

“Sleep well Nat.”

‘Sleep well Clint, have sweet dreams.’ She signed almost lovingly against his shoulder. He fell asleep quickly. 

 

A faint alarm woke Clint two hours later. Natasha groggily reset it. 

“Still alive?” He said quietly. 

‘Somewhat. Best not to sleep heavy.’ She signed against his shoulder. He turned around, to read her lips in the dim light. ‘We’re not talking about it Clint.’

“I never said anything.” He whispered, already upset she wouldn’t let him talk to her. He needed to act on the feelings he had, someway. Confirm them, or dismiss them, he could dismiss them, if she told him she didn’t have feelings for him, it would hurt, and be hard, but it’d be possible. 

‘I see it in your eyes.’ 

“Nat, I-”

‘Please don’t.’

“We just can’t ignore this.” Natasha turned on her side, her back facing him.  
He refused to let it go this time. 

He sat up and walked out of his bedroom. He ducked into the bathroom, and quietly slipped his hearing aids back in. He wanted to hear her voice. He looked around, she was bound to ask why he was in here, and he was going to hide the fact he could hear her now. He went, and flushed the toilet. He yawned while opening the bathroom door. Natasha was pretending to be asleep, he knew better. He slid back into his bed, and propped up on his elbow. Her hair had fallen back, exposing her almost bare shoulders, her sports bra the only thing interrupting the lines of her neck and shoulders. He decided to make a bold move, and hope she had mercy on him. He took his fingers, and started writing against her shoulder. 

‘There’s a lot of things I love about you.’ He paused, waiting for her to get it. Then continued. 

‘I love your hair, the natural red, not this bright color.’

‘I love the noise you make when someone rubs your neck.’

‘I love your voice, and the Russian lullabies you sing for me.’ 

‘I love that you…’ He stopped. 

‘I love you. All of you, good and bad stuff included.’ She shifted, and turned to face him. 

‘We can’t Clint.’

“Why not?” He asked out loud. 

‘Because, it’s us, and because of SHIELD, and the mess our lives are.’ 

“I don’t care about that Tasha.” 

‘I do.’

“Stop it. Don’t do that. I love you, and I don’t care about stupid excuses. It wouldn’t be easy. But, if you don’t want to work for it, it doesn’t have a chance.” 

‘Clint-‘

“Stop signing. I can hear you.” He mumbled. 

“Since when?”

“Since I went to the bathroom.” She nodded. “Just, tell me you don’t give a shit about me, and I’ll never bother you again.” 

“Clint- I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

“Then give it a chance, let’s give it a shot.” She muttered something, looking down, hiding her face. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Yes.” She said quietly. “We’ll try.” He was stunned, it actually worked? 

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” 

“Really?” 

“Ask again and I’ll say no.”

“Okay.” He pulled her close, “I’ve wanted to do this for years.” He whispered, and kissed her. It was long, and sweet, and the complete opposite of what Clint had expected. She wrapped around him, soft curves, firm body and warm skin. His hand cupped the back of her neck, and she moaned into his mouth. The kiss ended sweetly, he pressed light kisses to her mouth, over and over again. 

“You’ve, wanted this,” She gasped, “For years?”

“Since I first saw you.” He pressed his mouth to hers again. “Since you looked at me and I knew I couldn’t kill you.” Another kiss, “Since I saw in your eyes you were good.” She rocked up and pulled his bottom lip into her mouth. 

“I’m not a good guy Clint, just working for them.” 

“You chose to work for them.” He whispered, “That counts.” The alarm went off again. Natasha startled, and shut it off. Clint followed her to the edge of the bed and tucked her bottom to his hips. “Let me hold you tonight.” He murmured into her neck. She nodded. “Maybe I can keep the nightmares at bay.” She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Please.” She…whimpered? 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Clint said, tucking her close, and resetting the alarm. 

 

It was going to be a long night, and Clint felt it in his bones the next morning. Natasha smiled faintly, and snuggled back into his arms. He hummed happily, and settled back into the covers. Minutes later, JARVIS alerted Clint that breakfast was ready, and the team was eating without them. 

“Bastards.” Clint muttered, getting up. He turned back to Natasha. “Two options Tash, I leave, and you go to your room and change, or I give you one of my shirts, and you come to breakfast with me.” She sat up, and looked up at him with doe eyes.

“I can’t. Not yet Clint.” She said quietly. He nodded. 

“It’s fine Tasha.” He kissed her forehead. “See you at breakfast.” He murmured. He pulled on a pair of fleece pants, and trudged down the hall to the  
community kitchen. Tony was drinking a cup of coffee, and his 7 year old son, Coul, sat next to him, tapping away on a Stark Industries tablet. Peter sat next to Coul, and was asking loud questions about why everyone was so beat up looking, because “for crying loud , they were super heroes!” Thor was eating with the same gusto he always did, Steve eating with him like usual, but Bruce joined them. Charlotte had her head on the table, probably asleep. Pepper was propped up on the island bar, elbow deep in Stark paperwork. Clint rambled into the kitchen, attempting to find the world’s largest coffee cup that was not Tony Stark’s. Because if he took Tony’s that meant sudden death, same went for Bruce Banner’s mug. 20 minutes into Clint’s carb reload of a breakfast, Natasha came in, in the same yoga pants as the night before, but she’d pulled her hair up and pulled a over sized sweat shirt on, over sized to the point where the neck line drooped over one of her shoulders, or maybe it was cut that way, Clint had no idea.

“Do I need to med check either one of you?” Bruce asked, groggily looking up from his plate. 

“I’m good.” Clint said through a mouth full of waffle. 

Natasha didn’t say anything. 

“I’ll be done and back in my lab in 30 minutes Natasha.” Bruce said, sighing. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“No if ands or buts.” Bruce cut her off. “I mean it Widow.” Natasha nodded and grabbed a bowl, quickly nabbed her a few things to eat, make a pained expression, and disappeared again. 

“What’s wrong with Aunt Tasha?” Peter asked. Everyone looked up at Clint. 

“What? Why is it always my fault?” Clint asked, still eating. Steve shrugged,

“It normally always is, now go make nice.” Clint sighed and threw his fork on the counter, and stalked after Natasha. He opened her door without knocking, and slammed it closed. 

“Tasha, what in the hell?” She wasn’t anywhere he could see. “Natasha?” He asked worriedly.

“In here.” She said weakly, coming from her bathroom. Clint opened the door, and quickly dropped down.

“What’s wrong?” She was curled up, holding her side, and got up to throw up in the toilet. There was a bottle of vodka sitting on the floor, next to a spilt glass and a knocked over bottle of narcotics. 

“It hurts Clint.” She sobbed. 

“When did it start hurting bad?” He asked soothingly, flushing the toilet and brushing stray hair away from her eyes. 

“When I walked back here to get dressed.”

“When you started moving?” Natasha nodded. Clint picked up the spilt pain medication, and got a towel to wipe up the spilt vodka. He let Natasha dry heave once again, and then carefully picked her up. “Let’s go see Bruce, yah?” She nodded against his neck. Clint carried her to the elevator, avoiding the main kitchen. They went down to Bruce’s floor. His floor was split a couple different ways. A lab, a clinc/hospital setting, and a small living space. Bruce was munching on a bowl of cold cereal when they came down. 

“Oh my. What happened? Did making nice not go well?” 

“It’s from the fight yesterday, she had what looked like a muscle bruise, but now I’m not sure.” Clint said, gently sat her down on a bed, and Bruce washed his hands quickly, and got her a shot of pain medication. He carefully pulled her sweatshirt up.

“Oh God. Why didn’t you say something yesterday?”

“Because she’s pigheaded.” Clint muttered, taking her hand, and brushing her hair away from her forehead again. Bruce pressed and poked and prodded. 

“I need to take an x-ray, possibly a MRI.” He said soothingly, up-ing Natasha’s pain medication. Bruce walked off, and Clint crept closer.

“It’ll be okay Nat.” He said quietly. Her hand crept into his. She nodded. Bruce came back with a camera.

“I thought you said x-ray, not photo shoot.” Natasha said, weakly laughing. 

“Ah, your medication’s started working.” Bruce smiled, “And, I did say x-ray.” Bruce gestured for Clint to move, and he carefully pulled Natasha’s shirt up. He clicked a few pictures, and turned the camera off. He sat down in his rolling chair and pushed himself to a laptop and popped in the camera’s SD card. Bruce hummed and pulled up digital x-rays.

“See? I’ve been working on it for awhile, to help doctors out in the field. Portable x-ray machines.” Bruce grinned. “But, egh… This doesn’t look good Natasha. Broken ribs, looks like one splintered.” Clint winced. He knew all too much how that felt. “I still want to take an MRI, to check to see how bad everything is on the inside.” Bruce said. Natasha nodded. “No metal, check yourself.” Natasha sighed, and did a mental check list. 

“No metal.” She said, her voice cracking.

“Let’s go then, I’m going to roll you, Clint, you can come too.” Clint nodded and got up to follow Bruce. 

 

Natasha was sleeping fitfully when Bruce came back with results. Horrid internal bleeding. Bruce was worried, running around his ‘clinc’ quietly, not wanting to wake her. He had an IV stand set up, and was on the phone with other colleges, doctors, trying to find out what to do. 

“Clint, she’s got some damage that might require emergency surgery. I want her in a proper hospital ER, and I’m arranging transport now.” Clint put on a good face, and nodded. He carefully sat on the edge of Natasha’s bed and took her hand gently. He traced the side of her face, and whispered in her ear.

“Come on Nat, wake up for me.” Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned. He stopped her from trying to sit up.

“Bruce’s worried, he’s getting ready to get you in a hospital now.”

“What, what’s wrong? I feel fine.” She muttered.

“He thinks you might need surgery.” He murmured, brushing her hair back. She nodded slightly, and a couple EMTs came in, following Bruce.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Did Clint tell you?” Natasha nodded. The EMTs rolled her to the other gurney they had waiting outside for her. They lifted and slid her onto it, and strapped her down gently. They let Clint ride with her. Bruce actually beat them to the hospital and was waiting with another doctor. They took another MRI of her lower torso, and got her settled in a room. Soon after, Clint and the rest of the Avengers had descended upon her. Clint kept his distance, and hovered in the corner. Charlotte and Pepper were babysitting, out at Central Park. Tony was getting coffee, and Steve was talking to her doctor. Clint snuck and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. There was a knock at her door, and Clint cracked it open. It was Bruce. He came in, and stood at the side of Natasha’s bed.

“What happened yesterday?” He asked.

“One of Doom’s goons had me down. I got kicked a couple times.” She said quietly, the pain medication making her fuzzy. 

“How bad kicked?”

“Not bad.”

“It was bad enough to rupture your uterus.” Bruce said, placing a hand on her arm, “You need an emergent hysterectomy.” She nodded. “There’s a form you have to sign, but after that, within an hour you’ll be in surgery.” She nodded again, just barely. Bruce left, and Clint braced against the door. 

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked quietly. 

“I have no idea.” She whispered. She hated being put under. Even for surgery. It terrified her. 

“I’ll be here for you. I always have been before.” He pushed away from the door, and pulled her hand without needles into his. “I’ll watch, go up into the viewing box.” Natasha nodded. He leaned down and kissed her sweetly. “It’s going to be okay.” 

 

He waited five hours, watching them operate on her. It killed him, and halfway through, Bruce came up to the viewing box to sit with him. He was allowed in her room as soon as she came out of the OR. He was there went she woke up, and when Stark fought the hospital staff to get her back home early, so she could get private care. 

Clint slept in her floor, sitting up, and did all he could for her, waited on her hand and foot. She hated it. She hated having to lie in bed, hated the fact that Clint was taking it easy on her, hated being fuzzy from pain medication. They had a lot of conversations that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. For example, their relationship, if she had wanted to have children, and then something came out that Clint had already assumed. 

“I’m a Dom.” She mumbled, having taken more pain medication.

“Really? I don’t believe you, where’s the whips and chains?” He joked. 

“Under the bed.” She said, taking him seriously.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, drag the box out if you don’t believe me.” Clint’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“Would you ever sub to me?” 

“Yeah. For sure.”

“That easy? You don’t even think about it, or what I do to my subs or-“ Clint pressed his mouth to hers.

“I trust you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finally lets Natasha have her way with him. And he doesn't back down from a challange. Natasha knows this. Does Natasha still push him too far?

“Still trust me?” Nat crooned in his ear, weeks later. Clint nodded, gulping, and testing the chains holding his wrists high above his head. Natasha had carefully chained his wrists and ankles, pulling them away from his body. The cuffs were lined with soft padded fleece, so the wearer couldn’t bruise their wrists. After she’d chained him, she stood up, tall from her heels, and kissed him gently. Then she slipped a scarf around his eyes, blindfolding him. Instantly, his heartbeat kicked up, and he felt the world start suffocating him. No, oh no. Breathe. Get a grip Barton. It's just stupid scarf. A cold sweat prickled along his back, and he shivered.   
He jerked out of his thoughts, she was dragging something cold against the skin of his lower back. 

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly.

“Yes.” He breathed. 

“Good… But remember, it’s Mistress.” Her mouth was on his neck, sucking, nibbling. “Good boy.” Her mouth left, and her nails scratched down his shoulders, down his chest and she twisted his nipples. Her reward was a low moan from Clint.

“You like that?”

“Yes Mistress.” Natasha looked Clint over, he was shaking.

“Clint? Are you okay?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You’re shaking. I can’t fix it until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“The blindfold.” He gasped, “Please, take it off, please Mistress.” Natasha put her hands gently on Clint’s temples and slid the blindfold down. Her hands rested on his jaw as he took a deep breath. 

“Better?” She asked. He nodded. She kissed him gently. “We don’t have to do this. I’ll take the cuffs off.” 

“Just no blindfolds, I still want this.” Natasha pulled away. 

“I don’t.” Natasha said quietly. She took the key off her low hanging necklace and took the shackles off of his wrist. He let them drop and watched her as she took off the ones around his ankles. She stood and touched his cheek. 

“Kneel pet.” She murmured quietly. Clint did as she asked, and quietly kneeled at her feet. Natasha stroked his hair. “I forget that you’ve never done this before, love. I don’t want to rush you into something that might scare you off.”

“You won’t,” He murmured, “You won’t.” 

“Hands behind your back, head down, and shut up.” She said, walking away. She stood just on the other side of the door, and listened to Clint.   
He shifted, just slightly, setting himself like Tasha had asked him. She was testing him. He didn’t move an inch. 

Natasha came back 15 minutes later, Clint just like she’d asked, and he hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes were glazed over in a look that Natasha knew well from her days in the bondage clubs. Subspace; the tiny safe place where subs went to protect their minds from the pain of their physical being. Clint’s knees must be killing him, and then Natasha ran her eyes over his body. His left thigh was trembling. Her eyes traced over the scarring from machine gun fire, and her heart twisted. She was hurting him, and didn’t even laid whip nor flogger to him. She walked calmly to his side, and touched his shoulder softly, before grabbing on tighter. 

“Sit down, legs straight out.” She said firmly. He didn’t at first, but slowly, he moved. Natasha smiled slightly. “You did so good lovely pet. And I want you to come back to here, I’m going to reward you for passing my test.”

“Yes Mistress.” He breathed.

“Up. Walk. To the bed.” Clint hitched himself up, keeping weight off his left leg and did as she commanded. “Lay back.” He did, and she pulled his wrist up to the head board. “Do not touch.” Natasha ran her hands down his chest, and back up. She repeated the motion several times, until Clint moaned. She then ran her hands down to his thighs, rubbing and stroking, never even close to where he wanted. He was breathing heavily through his nose, and every time she went up towards his belt region, a whimpering like sound came from him. 

“Tasha, please.” He moaned, his hands finding her hair. She smacked them away, and straddled his lap. 

“I told you not to touch.” She said, deadpan. 

“I’m sorry Mistress.” 

“You don’t sound like it.”

“I beg forgiveness.” She could hear the smirk in his voice, and he didn’t even bother to hide it. She stood up, and walked to her dresser, where her box of toys sat. She fished out a pair of handcuffs, and went to straddle Clint again. She slapped one cuff on his wrist and sharply tugged it up to the head board, she ran the chain around the hidden bar, conveniently between the mattress and headboard, and latched the other cuff to his other wrist. Clint grinned as Natasha settled back onto his lap.

“What now Mistress?” He asked.

“I’m going to finish what I started, now that I won’t have any more distractions.” Clint’s head lolled back with a moan. She pulled him into her mouth, and sucked down long and hard. He nearly shouted. She let go and swung her leg around so that she faced his feet, and so he could burry his face into her also. His tongue and mouth went to work, and damn he was good at this. Moments later, she was shuddering, and bucking back onto his face. She came, with a breathy sigh, and settled back down to make Clint come too. They were both panting and boneless when Natasha managed to undo the handcuffs binding Clint to the bed. 

 

 

One Year Later.

 

Clint hung his head, staring at the dismissal papers in his hands. Dismissed. The ringing in his ears was loud and awful. Not the worse he’d had, but that with the tearing in the ligaments in his shoulders, it put him out of commission. Ligaments would heal, ringing ears would heal, and he just needed down time that he wouldn’t get at Avenger Tower. He understood logically, but it still hurt and made him feel like he was getting thrown away. With a sore heart, and heavy feet, Clint made his way back to the Quinjet, and the team was waiting on him before returning to the Tower. He stalked onto the jet, the others laughing and cutting up. Tony said something, but Clint had long ago taken his hearing aids out and thrown them at a wall. Clint tapped his ear and slashed across his throat, no communication. Tony nodded and thumbs up-ed at him, Natasha rested a hand on his arm, then let him go.   
Back at the Tower, Clint’s still angry; SHIELD had left him a packet taped to his door. It wasn’t uncommon, but not routine either. It normally meant an overnight assignment, something clean and easy. But Clint knows better now. It’s to make sure he leaves the Tower. He goes in his room and opens it. It’s his new life. A picture of a home in a suburb, the name of someone to get him a service dog, if he so wished, his new IDs and the keys to a car. He held the envelop up towards the security camera he knew was in his room. 

“I get the message Nick. Get mine.” Clint flicked off the camera, and set about packing his bags.   
That night, Natasha decides that subbing is a bad idea, and that tenderness is what Clint needs at the moment. They make love, something that doesn’t happen often, with Natasha being nearly asexual and Clint needing it hard when he needs sex.

“They’re making me leave.” He murmured during the quiet cuddling that followed. “I’ve got a house, in the ‘burbs, Tash, and another life.” 

“All the things you’ve wanted.” She said quietly. Clint closed his eyes and groaned.

“Yes it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”


End file.
